


An Ancestor? Part 2

by Branwen_Merla



Series: An OC In The HP World [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ancient History, Attraction, Death, Dementors, Embarrassment, F/M, Illusions, Insanity, Love, Magic, Multiple Personalities, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Mythology, Passion, Ravens, Red String of Fate, Shapeshifting, Teasing, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2018-10-12 02:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branwen_Merla/pseuds/Branwen_Merla
Summary: Knowing of the impending battle, the robed woman once more sets foot onto the soft grass of the grounds of Hogwarts. Although she had been away for many a year, she found naught much had changed - only the one whom she once cared for.





	1. Once More Unto The Breach

**Author's Note:**

> I think this story turned out better, but it IS still the sequel... so it continues on from the first.
> 
> As stated in the last story:  
> Heads up, some chapters are shorter than others.  
> Also, no one has proof-read this, so please ignore the jumbling of tenses and possible grammar mistakes.
> 
> Side note: I'm not a huge fan of HP (Sorry!), but I did find it somewhat enjoyable to watch (which I only just started watching recently, after much convincing).  
> In saying that, I write fanfics because I enjoy writing my OC into practically everything xD

Years pass as a seemingly ordinary young adult boards the red steam train, leaving from platform 9 ¾. Why must she take the train? She knew the way. She thought haughtily, sighing as she dully stared past the rain streaked window, to the scenery zipping past. How did she get in this predicament? It was September now, the start of a new school year. Her memories from earlier whizzed past as fast as the scenery.

 

A shadowy figure floats past Dumbledore’s peripheral vision. Because of the recent events of Voldemort and his minions, Dementors have been assigned to patrol the outskirts of the school grounds. There had been rumours of the Dementors entering the castle at night, but he had yet to see one. Thinking he had best investigate, Dumbledore turns on his heel and begins to follow where he had seen the black cloaked figure disappear. Rounding corner after corner, and missing the creature every time, he decides to call it a night and let the other teachers know. Returning to his office, he sees Snape pointing a wand at the thing he had been following. However, it was not a Dementor like he originally thought. It was a hooded person, face hidden by an overly large raven skull. Seemingly undisturbed at the sight of someone threatening them, he felt as if their eyes shifted to him.

“I found this person skulking about the grounds, Headmaster.” Snape spat his words.

A Death Eater? No. The points are generally on their robed hoods, not the smooth bone of their skull masks.

Taking a step and standing next to Snape, he examines this person. By the height, they are an adult, not a child. Their shoulders are not broad, so they are not a man. What sort of woman wears this kind of attire? Dumbledore’s eyes shift to the clasp on the woman’s cloak. A silver crescent moon. He strokes his beard. The aura she seems to emanate is slightly Machiavellian in nature, and the air around her feels cold, however, he feels that she is not inherently evil.

“And whom might you be, young lady?” Dumbledore asks with his usual kindness, approaching her with a solid stride. Snape raises his wand higher, aiming at her throat in case she tries anything. The woman answers with silence, yet does not attempt to move. She is obviously not afraid of these two ‘older’ men.

“Interesting…” Dumbledore says once more, circling the woman and then stopping in front of her once again, peering into the mask and the shadow the her hood is creating. “Some people say that eyes are the windows to the soul… is that why you cover yours with the spell of darkness?” She is yet to speak, but he senses her smirk. There is a brief flash of gold from beyond the veil of shadow. “You are… ah, I see.” He strokes his long beard once more.

“I have had quite enough of this!” Snape snaps, as he basically lunges at the cloaked figure, wand pointing, as if he is fencing with an epee. The wand’s tip touches the forehead of her mask. Staring at her all the while, Dumbledore commands Snape to lower his wand in a hurry. Confused as to why, Snape stares into the darkness of the hood. His blood runs cold as he sees the swirling golden eyes staring back at him, goading him to continue his assault. Snape drops his wand instantly, unable to believe it is who he thinks it is. It’s not possible. They’re a myth, a legend. And if they _were_ real, why would they come now? And why to Hogwarts? Refocusing his attention, he sees Dumbledore bow slightly as he addresses the woman.

“Please, follow me, I will call an emergency staff meeting immediately.”

*

The staff are gathered in the small meeting room, just outside of Dumbledore’s office stairwell, wondering what the emergency is and wondering if it is relating to the rumours of the dementors entering the castle. Dumbledore descends the stairs, as Snape sticks to the main door, keeping an ear and eye out for the troublesome three and their talent for sticking their noses into where they should not. It may not yet be the start of the semester, but they tend to appear when not wanted.

“I’ve gathered you here because we have a very important visitor.” Dumbledore booms.

The teachers/staff look around the room and at each other.

“Who is it?” Hagrid asks, not seeing the person to whom Dumbledore was referring.

Dumbledore smiles enigmatically, “Someone who is very much real, and has fooled all of us.”

At that signal, a cloaked figure slowly descends the stairs gracefully. All eyes are on her as she takes her foot off the last step and stands in front, yet slightly to the side of Dumbledore. A two fingered, soft black leathered sleeve exits the crushed velvet and raven feathered cloak, and unclasps the raven skull mask. Attention was briefly drawn to the remaining three fingers which were uncovered, as they were perfectly manicured in black nail polish tipped with forest green. Removing the mask with her right hand, the stranger reached up with her left at the same time, pulling the hood down and allowing her raven black hair to fall down her shoulders like an obsidian waterfall. Snape briefly looked with disinterest in the direction as he heard them all gasp. His eyes grew wide. She was surprisingly beautiful. The raven feathers tucked behind her ears and the silver circlet on her head made her look like a Valkyrie. Her winged eyeliner was simple yet perfect, making the colour of her blood red lipstick all the brighter. Her skin was a smooth and alabaster, whilst the silky black of her hair glimmered slightly in the light, reflecting hidden tones of a deep purple.

As she opened her eyes slowly, the staff began to whisper amongst themselves.

“That’s not possible.”

“What does this mean?”

“Wasn’t the Beauxbatons champion eyes of similar colour? A relation perhaps? Mother? Sister?”

Snape and Dumbledore both smiled wryly to themselves. These were the exact thoughts they had had, when they first laid eyes upon her amethyst ringed emerald green retinas. However, the truth was far stranger.

“I’d like you to meet Branwen Merla. She has not shared why she is here, but I welcome her nonetheless. I expect you to be cooperative in whatever she may ask.”

 “Won’t the students ask questions if there is a mysterious stranger wandering about the grounds?” Hagrid breaches the question the others were thinking.

“We could have her teach defence of the dark arts.” Professor Macgonnagal mentions.

Branwen’s eyes stare straight at Snape. She knows he had always wanted that position, and anyways, if she HAD to teach, she would prefer potions. Although all she really knew how to make was poison. Parting her lips, Branwen opens her mouth for the teachers for first time.

“If I may.”

Her sultry hushed tone murmured like wind whispering in the trees, as her voice sounded around the empty room. Starting from the floor where her cloak lay, small wisps of purple-black smoke gathered and swirled around her body, slowly turning into a very large plume. The now thick smoke fully encased Branwen, blocking her from view. Almost as immediate as it started, it vanished, leaving still a cloaked figure, however smaller and physically younger than she was previously.

They all stare, mouths agape. Is it possible that Branwen _was_ the champion?

Picking up on the vague thoughts, she decides to reply. “That is correct. I have a plethora of names, including one that literally translates to ‘she of many names’. However, I implore you to call me my birth name, not that of Beauxbatons champion.”

“Won’t a Beauxbaton girl in Hogwarts cause quite a commotion?”

Branwen removes her cloak.

“I see. Becoming a student. Marvellous idea, albeit a tad risky. People are sure to recognise you.”

 “You would be amazed at how many things go unnoticed in this school.” Branwen smirks as she adjusts her tie.

 

Sighing to herself once more, she stretched her legs out in her empty carriage. She preferred to be alone, the last few years spent in isolation, honing, controlling and perfecting her skills – albeit with little effort. She had even begun to research herself, reading the stories with amusement and interest, discovering that she had been constructed into many different forms – some of which were not far from the truth. She had also visited the old village that had once condemned her, and found it had become a tourist trap and residential area. Asking around in town, she found that in the years after she disappeared, they sparked a search and burned or hung anyone that may be considered a witch. The Salem Witch Trials, they called it.

Branwen snorted. Stupid mortals. She should’ve shown them what _really_ happened that day… she thinks as the pitter patter of the rain grows heavier on the locomotives roof.

She had no luggage, she needed nothing but her talents. Why did she decide to return after all this time? She was not a child, nor a teen. And what was with these outfits? At least in Beauxbatons she could don her cloak. She belonged to no house, so her uniform consisted of a simple black satin tie, a crescent moon pin clipped onto her lapel. Her black pleated skirt was surprisingly short, luckily the majority of her legs were covered by her thigh-high black socks. She refused to wear the Mary-janes that the other school kids of the female genre wore, even if they weren’t that bad. They just weren’t her. Instead, she decided on a pair of heeled ankle boots, small silver links decorating them and matching the mysterious slight shine of her pin. She huffed in annoyance as she thought to herself, crossing her legs once more. A familiar face floats in her mind. It’s only been a few years, but… will he remember her? No, he will remember who she _was._ Feeling a self-depreciative smile tugging her lips, she shoved these thoughts toward the back of her mind. No. Enough. Shaking her head lightly, she continued her internal struggle, until the carriage door slid open.

Looking out of the corner of her eye, she saw three teens walk in. Two boys and one girl.

“All the other carriages are full, do you mind?” The boy with glasses asked her. She shot him a sidelong glance and resumed staring out the window. They share a look.

“She’s very rude.” The girl whispers to the other two, as she takes a seat diagonally across from the stranger, closest to the door.

“Maybe she doesn’t speak English? Look at her uniform.”

“Is she a transfer? Do Hogwarts even have transfers?”

“Hello, I’m Harry. What’s your name?” The boy with the glasses asks her, sitting in front of her and attempting to get her attention. She lifts her chin up off the palm of her hand and turns her eyes to him. Harry’s eyes widen a little as he sees the colour of hers.

“What’s wrong Harry?” The orange haired boy sits next to the stranger.

“N-nothing.” He stutters slightly. _Odd coloured eyes… it’s almost as if they were staring right through me._ _Where have I seen those eyes before...?_

She shuffles closer to the window, allowing the boy next to her more room.

“See, she isn’t rude.”

“Maybe she’s just shy?”

She holds back a snort. Shy? Her? Heh. It has surprised her slightly that they haven’t recognised her yet. Especially since Harry was in the tournament also. Can clothes really change a person’s perception? Curious.

The orange haired boy rubs his arms slightly. “It’s very cold in here. How odd.”

_“Sorry, not sorry.”_ She thinks with a silent bemused chuckle. _“I think I found some new playmates. How fun~”_

The train ride continues on without any hitch, relatively speaking. Other than the odd tricks played on them - noises, or misplaced item in the possession of the three. Deciding to befriend the strange and mysterious girl, Harry is the first to speak.

“As I said, I’m Harry Potter. That’s Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.”

Branwen lowers her head in a nod, careful as to not let anyone else see her eyes.

“And you are…?”

She sighs internally. That’s just what she needs, she thinks with disdain.

The jolt of the train reaching its destination and the clamour to get out distracts the teens temporarily. This was the perfect opportunity.

“If you ever need anything-” Turning back around, they see the mysterious passenger has disappeared.

“Maybe she’s already outside?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry replies as he hears a howl and sees a black fox slink away from the platform.


	2. Haughty Young Adults

“… We extend a warm welcome to all new students!” Dumbledore boomed as he concluded his speech. Sweets suddenly appeared upon the many large, lined tables as per usual, to surprise the youngest and newest to the school.

As those around them ate, the three from the train began to whisper.

“Where do you think she went? I haven’t seen her at all.”

 

Staring somewhat blankly, yet always keeping an eye on Potter, Draco is suspicious by the sudden silent conversation they seemed to be having.

“What are they whispering about?”

“What’s wrong Draco?” A Slytherin girl sitting next to him, asks.

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. This school and all in it will be gone soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco doesn’t answer her, the tormented thoughts growing in his mind. He had been chosen by the Dark Lord to do his will, much like his father Lucius. He hated this school and all in it. Well, all but one person… the one that came with a visiting academy on the day of the Triwizard Tournament. His feelings are conflicted as he hovers between hate and tolerance of the many students in these halls. Okay, maybe he didn’t _hate_ them… Regardless, there was only one person whom he felt could save him from this curse set upon him, yet he had not seen her since she turned her back on him coldly. Thinking about her somewhat bitterly, he begins to realise… everyone abandons him in the end. The love of his father, Velore, soon his mother… he has to rely on himself and the man who gave him a purpose.


	3. The 'New' Student

The following day, classes began early, starting with Quidditch practice. Branwen had no classes that morning, and, seeing her wandering the halls, Harry had invited her to watch. Shrugging, she followed close behind him, curious as to whom Gryffindor were facing. Stepping onto the grassed field, her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the green of the Slytherin uniforms. Unconscious of what she was doing, her eyes began to automatically search for the one she remembered fondly. He was there, directly above her, completely still with a complicated expression on his face.

Branwen was confused, yet relieved. He is safe, but what was the strange aura he was emitting? He feels… different. Okay, it had been a few years, but his essence shouldn’t have changed. Troubled, she furrows her brow.

Mistaking her expression for an odd type of curiousity, Harry pushes a spare broom into her hands.

“You can have a go at flying around, if you like.”

Branwen stares blankly at the cleaning instrument in her hand, tilting her head. Flying? Raising an eyebrow she takes another look above her. Why they use a broom to fly was beyond her. How idiotic. Dropping it with a smirk, she stretches and disappears behind the back of the stands. A few moments later, there is the sound of beating wings as a raven lands on one of the goal rings.

_I think I will take you up on that offer Harry. I will watch the game._

 

Eyes glazed over and once more consumed by his thoughts, he didn’t notice the young woman below him. His nose twitched as the breeze blew, a familiar smell wafting around him as if dancing a tantalising tease. Vanilla blueberry with a hint of coconut. The memories of her passing him, grinning, flash before his eyes. She’s here. But where? There is a soft clatter as a broom falls onto the green grass of the Quidditch field directly under him.

*

Ending Quidditch practice because of the now falling snow, the players from both teams decide to relax in their warm dorm rooms. Passing through the courtyard, they see a black dressed young woman sitting unperturbed on one of the many stone slab benches that framed the fountain. Especially strange as the other students that trotted about, walking to their classes, wore heavy, warm robes and jumpers.

She sat calmly in her short-skirted uniform, staring at a raven perched in a nearby tree and ignoring the whispers and hushed tones from those talking about her.

“Isn’t she cold?”

“She’s that transfer, right? Maybe she’s accustomed to cold weather?”

“Oh, I’ve heard about her, she’s a bit odd, don’t you think? Look at her eyes.”

Draco just happened to be walking past like an automaton, lost in his troubling thoughts as he heard the whispering in the courtyard. _“Eyes?”_ The blonde young man stops suddenly, causing a few students to mutter under their breath after bumping into his back. He paid no heed to them as they passed by grumpily, glaring daggers. Feeling as if he had been struck by lightning and standing as still as a statue, he listens without looking, complicated feelings swirling in his chest.

 

Her three carriage buddies walk over to her.

“Just ignore them.” Hermione said, speaking from the experience of being bullied herself.

“I don’t think she was really listening…” Ron mumbles as he examines the stranger. “Hold on... isn’t she one of the champions from the Triwizard Tournament?”

Finally.

“The Beauxbaton girl. You know, the one that always wore that black cloak that everyone tried to guess what was under it. I wonder why she decided to transfer here.”

“Well, why don’t we ask her?”

“I doubt she’d tell us. She doesn’t seem to talk.”

 

There was only one person who they could be describing, but it’s not possible. Even though he smelt her perfume, he wrote it off as his imagination. She wouldn’t come back here, after all this time. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he peered around the corner. It was indeed her. Older, but definitely her. There was no way he could forget the snow white of her skin that pressed against him that time in the room of requirement, or the red lips that grinned at him cheekily when they first met. Coupled with his latest problems, she had been in his thoughts, haunting him day and night. Step by step he approached her, impulse and body taking over and yielding to the strange gravitational pull. The closer he got, the less empty he felt.

“What do you want, Malfoy.” Harry says with disgust.

_Malfoy…?_

Her eyes finally shift to him, as he swallows nervously, senses returning.

_“Why… Why did I…?”_

A heavy air hangs between them as both Draco and Branwen stare at each other, a complex expression on his face, yet a stoic expression on hers.

“Why are you here, Velore...?”

Everyone is confused as they look upon this scene. Did he know her?

He didn’t think she would look at him again, especially since the last time he saw her, she gave him the cold shoulder and disappeared without even a goodbye.

“That is not my name.”

All in the courtyard stop and stare as a pin drop silence ensued. Some students even dropped their books in shock. Did she just speak? And to Malfoy, of all people? Hermione, Ron, and Harrys eyes all go wide. Malfoy himself was surprised, yet pleased that she responded. Being amongst those never hearing her voice, he was taken aback by how harmonious it sounded, thinking he could listen to it all day, for the rest of his life. But… had her eyes always looked so dull and lifeless? He found himself staring, wondering how and why the usual gleam and twinkle of mischief was now replaced by that of a more empty and sinister darkness, not realising that the thoughts of his struggle and the dark lord had all but been chased away.

“May I ask what it is?” He continues to address her with a pained look in his eyes, ignoring Harry.

“You may.”

Finally, they were all going to know the real name of this mysterious ex-Beauxbaton girl!

The loud bell sounds, signalling the beginning of class. Her parted lips that were about to reveal her name, grow into a devious smirk.

“Oh. What a pity.” Her sarcastic tone was sharp and clear, as all students droop their shoulders in disappointment.

 

*

Taking a seat in his usual spot, Draco watches his unnamed classmate take a seat up the front, catching the subtle exchanged glance between herself and Professor Snape. What was that about? Did anyone else notice? With a quick survey of the room, he concluded that they did not.

“I will be in charge of this class today. Turn to page 394 of your textbooks.”

The red of the calligraphy font figuratively jumped out at Draco. It was the same colour of her lips.

Snape had a somewhat dissatisfied and disgusted look on his face as he read the title. There was a snigger from somewhere from the front of the class, assumingly from the ‘new’ student, and Draco noticed the professor’s expression change drastically. Snape was obviously not himself. Was he nervous? But why could no one else see it?

“We will be learning about the myth of The Red String of Fate… ”

_“But why would he be nervous?”_

“According to Japanese legend the two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. The strings can sometimes become tangled, which could postpone the fateful meeting, but those ties can never be broken. Does anyone know the name of the god…”

_“Does it have something to do with…”_

“Miss Granger.”

“In Chinese myth, the gods tied an invisible red thread around the ankles of a man and a woman, instead of the pinky finger in Japanese legend... Similar to our concept of soulmates. The deity in charge of the red thread is believed to be Yue Xia Lao, the old lunar matchmaker god.”

_“But what was with that look?”_

“For an interesting exercise, we are going to find your own red string. Unfortunately, you will be the only one who can see it.”

Draco snaps back to reality when he sees everyone raising their wands. Having not paid attention, he has no idea what is happening around him. He observes the others in his class before attempting it himself.

At the front of the class, Branwen is handed a strange wooden stick by the professor. His expression is unreadable as they exchange yet another look, however Branwen knew what it meant. Don’t cause too much trouble. Meaning… she can cause a little trouble, right? She grinned a touch in reply and he sighs inaudibly. Snape returns to the front of the class as she turns her old, borrowed wand over in her hands and stares at it dubiously. They never had these in Beauxbatons. She knows what it’s for, as she had been threatened with it by he whom is currently teaching this class, but she never needed one.

 _Why_ do _wizards use wands?_ She contemplates, a voice directly to her left cutting through her thoughts.

“The wand is used to channel your energy, like so.”

Branwen stares at her partner in class blankly, before snapping the wooden twig in half with a huff and a raised eyebrow. The oddly loud crack grabbing the attention of those in the room. Throwing it over her shoulder, she proceeds to stand and leave, uninterested in the commotion she had caused.

Snape’s cheek twitches slightly, annoyed by the disturbance she had created, but does nothing. Even he does not want to be on the receiving end of her powers, she who could liquefy someone by merely snapping her fingers.

Why was this strange girl here, if she refused to take part? Harry, Ron, and Hermione are curious as to why Snape just lets her go, without even a glare. Is it possible he knows something about her that they do not?

There is a tug on Draco’s pinky. Thinking it is a bug, he goes to brush it away, only to feel not prickles or legs, but a soft satin red ribbon tied in a bow. It is transparent and with an odd glow, flickering as if its manifestation will not last long. Eyes following the length of the side that is uncut, he notices it sway slightly, as if it were moving. Branwen passes by him, eyes straight ahead, not even a glance in his direction. Ignoring this intentional snub, his eyes continue along the translucent thread, fairly certain of where it is leading him. Correct to his hopes and assumptions, he sees a glimmer and a very brief materialisation of the exact same bow from his finger around Branwen’s ankle.

*

 

The last class of the evening was one called Divination. She was intrigued by the name and wondered if it would be anything like what she had practiced when she was a ‘child’ in the village. Seeing no available spaces other than the seat next to the blonde girl whom people seemed to avoid, she sits, comfortable with the silence and lack of communication with her partner.

The time ticks by as people drain their tea and focus on their fortunes. Whilst everyone’s attention was on their tea leaves, Branwen’s eyes flicker as the tarot cards next to the crystal ball on Professor Trelawney’s table rise slowly into the air. One by one they shuffle, as an unseen force splits the deck. Shuffling once more, they float higher and arrange in a general gypsy spread. The seemingly absent minded girl sharing her small table, glances up.

“I wonder if the nargles will steal my shoes tonight.”

“?” Startled by the suddenness, the tarot cards drop to the floor. Trelawney hears the noise and rushes to pick them up, thinking the open window had blown them all over the floor and completely forgetting she had Branwen in her class.

Apparently used to this random outburst, the students in the class go among their business per usual.

“Hello. You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Luna Lovegood. Have you seen any nargles around?”

“Not recently…”

“Oh, that’s good, then. Your eyes are very pretty, how do you change colour like that?”

Branwen smiles a genuine yet quirky smile. This girl was quite odd… but she sensed a type of comradery. She seemed to be able to see things others cannot, and although strange, she was very observant and did things her own way – not caring what others thought of her.

“I’m Branwen Merla.”

“Branwen Merla…” Luna tilts her head slightly as she eyes the feathers in Branwen’s hair, “…fair raven.”

 Reaching up, Branwen plucks out one of the feathers and offers it to the girl with twinkling eyes.

Luna nods her head in understanding and securely fastens the raven feather into her loose and somewhat messy hair.


	4. A Different Type Of Teaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realisation of old friends, and a new professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next/last chapters are sort of jumpy as I stopped writing for about a year. I take ideas etc from my dreams and I haven't been dreaming lately... so I'm practically just posting what I have. I've lost my rhythm/flow.

Side by side with Luna and with matching raven feathers, they walk in silence down the almost empty halls of Hogwarts.

“Miss Merla.” Professor Macgonnagal gestures her to follow.

“Goodbye, Branwen. Thank you for the blessing.” Luna hugs Branwen and casually strolls toward the staircases. Branwen’s eyes narrow as she watches the retreating back of her newfound ally.

  
“I see you are making friends.”

Friends? She would’ve called them followers.

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Quite.”

 

Opening the heavy, ornate wooden door, Branwen is greeted by the Headmaster and a small group of teachers.

“Oh?” She lets out a bemused chuckle, spying Snape in the corner.

Dumbledore takes a step toward her. “I hear you have been causing trouble in your classes, and quite a stir amongst the older students.”

“Is that so?” She smiles sweetly at Snape and his blood runs cold.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Either participate with your classmates, or…”

“Or?”

“…teach them.”

“I thought we had this conversation already…”

“True, but we didn’t have a spare class to teach at the time.”

“And you do now?”

“Indeed. I have created one, just for you.”

“My, my. How thoughtful of you, I’m flattered.” She teased with a snort of amusement.

“Marvellous, I will announce it at breakfast.” He replied happily, clapping his hands.

“I don’t believe I agreed.”

Staring at each other silently with matching fearless smiles, they seemed like a pair of very old friends enjoying a long running inside joke.

“Alright Dumbledork, what’s the class?”

Snape decides to finally speak up, defending the headmaster. “How dare you-”

“Dumbledork… I haven’t heard that since… Ah.” He laughs a deeply. “Why am I not surprised?” Wiping the tears from his eyes as he finishes his bout of laughter with the teachers looking on in confusion, he clears his throat. “I believe this is right up your alley!”

*

 

The mess hall is packed with students, waiting to enjoy their breakfast.

“Settle down, everyone!”

A booming voice commands, taking his usual place behind the stand.

“I know you are all hungry and eager to start the day-”

Some groans are heard from the not nearly awake.

“-However, I am pleased to announce the opening of our latest optional class and the introduction of a new professor!”

 

“Harry, you’re tight with Dumbledore, did you hear about this?”

“No… and don’t say it like that.”

Noticing the confused looks upon the faces of the three students who are usually in the loop of such happenings, Draco now turns his full attention to the podium. He was very awake and alert, having had a full nights rest – the best he’s had in ages – without the Dark Lord whispering in his ear or the twisted thoughts circling his brain. As such, he notices Dumbledore’s glance and a wink that seemed directed toward him. Not Harry, but him.

 

Addressing all assembled once more, Dumbledore continues to explain.

“I’m sure you’re all curious as to what this new class is! Well, very simply put, it is about precision! Spells are all very good, but what is the point without aim? They do not auto track a target, and if you are moving, or the target is moving, it is very difficult to hit. You will be combining stationary with moving targets, and it will be all practical, non-academic.

To clarify, this new class will be specifically for the newer students. Although non-compulsory for those older, I implore you to try it. It will be very useful coupled with your other activities.”

There are many whispers among the older students, consisting of how there was no way they would take on extra classes if they didn’t have to.

“Please give a warm Hogwarts welcome to our new professor - Branwen Merla!”

 

Studying the picture one last time, she tucks it into her hidden pocket as she is engulfed by a purple-black smoke.

 

Head held high, the new teacher steps gracefully onto the stage from where she was hidden. Dumbledore regards her with a subtle curiousity, stroking his beard as if studying a new breed of magical creature.

Draco narrows his eyes slightly, was the headmaster expecting someone else?

The woman’s brown leather makes a slight noise as she bows toward the students in a greeting, her long, wild brown hair all but falling over her face. She was the true epitome of a huntress, inclusive of the furs she has draped and the small antlers, leaves, and feathers she had decorating her hair.

“Well, maybe taking this extra class won’t be such a bad thing…” A sleazy Slytherin boy grins from across from Draco, licking his lips and ogling the beauty on stage.

There is a grotesque feeling in the pit of his stomach as watches the boy with a sneer.


	5. Hold It Steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERSSSSSSSSS
> 
> Just saying.

The first aim and precision class takes place immediately after breakfast, an introductory lesson, and as such, the other classes had been cancelled. The Quidditch field had been temporarily turned into something that resembles an archery guild – inclusive of bullseyes on hay bales, training dummies, and something that looked like a shooting gallery you get at a fair, yet much, much larger. The professors take a seat in the stands as the students from the school crowd in. They were surprised at the much larger turnout than anticipated, most likely due to the attractiveness of the teacher and the raging teenage hormones.

 

The small lecture began with examples of Artemis, William Tell, and Robin Hood’s finest movements, flexibility, dexterity, and secrets of the hunt – all of which were accounts not in any history book.

“In conclusion, the exercise today will be William Tell’s famous move of shooting an apple off his competitors head with but one arrow. However, we are not risking the lives of the students as fun as that may be, but those of these poor defenceless straw dummies.”

Thinking something feels off, a young woman’s hand shoots into the air, the upright arm akin to that of a soldier standing at attention.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“You have the knowledge of many historians, and you speak as if you were there. How old are you really?”

Branwen’s eyes twinkle as she grins. “Isn’t it a tad rude to ask a lady such a question?” She answers ambiguously. “Now, as I was saying…”

The oral presentation ends as the students upon the playing field take up their wands and aim at the targets strapped to the hay bales and dummies littered about the green. As this was basically target practice, there was no right or wrong, just the discernment and refinement of aim.

Draco was one of those students enrolled, remembering the wink and glance he saw from Dumbledore. With that playing on his mind, he cannot concentrate, and misses.

“Professor!”

A yell echoes over the ground as a potentially fatal orb of fire travels toward the back of Branwen’s head at an astounding speed.

With the fireball merely millimetres from her head, Professor Branwen spins with the dexterity rivalling, if not overtaking, that of the masters of the hunt she had just lectured on, and deflects the incoming projectile with one of her throwing daggers.

As the flame hits the dewy morning grass and fizzles, Branwen glances over to the culprit and sighs slightly with resignation.

 “Here, Mr Malfoy, like this.”

Approaching the young man with somewhat tentative steps, she circles behind him and places her hands over his, as if embracing him from behind.

Wolf whistles and jeers are heard from some Slytherin boys that refused to take part. Draco feels his face heat up in embarrassment.

Without so much as a twitch from the caster, their clothes begin to melt away slowly, as if acid rain is pouring down upon them. It is their turn to be embarrassed now, as they stand in a fluster and practically naked, leaving nothing behind but the laughter of the other students as they run off toward the dorms.

“My, my. What a weird coincidence.” Branwen chuckles lightly, her breath hitting Draco’s ear as she whispers to him from behind, “now concentrate.”

A small breeze flutters their hair as a familiar fruity scent invades his nostrils.

Draco inhales deeply. Unfamiliar scenes and people flash before his eyes, as if the perfume obscuring his senses was telling him a story. What it was, he couldn’t say, but as the pictures fade, he is greeted by the sound of students cheering. Confused, his vision now focuses upon the target in front of him. Charred straw falls from the smoking hole in the centre of the bullseye.

Branwen smirks a little in pride, knowing that was his own accomplishment and that she had no play in it whatsoever (at least consciously). Catching herself before the tug on her lips become a full blown smile, she proceeds to pull away from him somewhat coldly and professionally, a complete shift from how she was acting only moments ago. “Well done, Mr Malfoy. I look forward to your progress.”

The straight-laced smile and the pure platonic tone of her voice brings him out of his musings. He didn’t notice it before, possibly from all the excitement at breakfast… but… this professor looks an awful lot like the woman in the picture, the one that fell from the diary. Is it possible that this person standing before him could be ‘Velore’s’ mother? Probable, yet unlikely. But that just begs the question, who _is_ she?

The lesson ends without another fault as the professor bids the students goodbye. They hover near briefly, before needing to attend their other classes, disappointment drooping their shoulders. Draco was the last to leave, intending to follow this enigma for answers. As he began to stalk in the shadows created by the assorted hay bales, a familiar black feather fluttered past one of the upper school windows, catching his eye. Distracting him successfully, Branwen sighed with relief as she hid from prying eyes, encasing herself once more in shadow.  

 

Spying the black feather fluttering in Luna’s hair, Draco approaches her out of breath. He was disappointed yet not surprised that it wasn’t whom he thought it would be. “Where did you get that?”

“It was a blessing from Fair Raven. If you ask her nicely, she may give you one too.” Luna answers innocently.

“Fair raven?”

“I think she said her name was Merla.”

“Merla? Professor Branwen Merla? I’m not looking for her.”

Luna tilts her head, “Branwen isn’t a teacher.”

 

 

“I must leave tonight.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain young man, would it?”

“Hah, you caught that today, did you? No matter.”

“Is he, perchance, one of them?”

She doesn’t answer.

“I see. And what of the Dark Lord? You know the time is drawing near.”

Branwen approaches the headmaster and gently holds his hands in her own. “I am truly sorry for what is to come, Albus. You know I cannot interfere with what is etched in stone.”

A peaceful smile graces his face. “This is a rare occurrence.” He chuckles as the woman in front of him frowns. “Since when have you been one to have empathy for another?” He jokes in an attempt to break the tension. “I’m aware. I know what I must do and where my journey will end. I hope we will see each other again in my next life, old friend.”

“You know it will happen.” Releasing his hands, Branwen curtsies a little as she says goodbye to the old wizard for the last time.


	6. The Killing Curse That Doesn't Kill?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPoiLERS

So as it stands, the school is being attacked and the final barrier has crumbled. Harry is seemingly dead, brought into the courtyard by Hagrid. Voldemort’s army faces the last resistance in the school. Two of the death eaters attempt to sway their Slytherin son to join them. He sighs in resignation as he crosses the large courtyard toward his parents, passing Voldemort whom is standing in the middle.

However, no one had noticed the raven that had been perched upon the broken pillar for quite some time now, observing the events unfold. Why is it that nobody ever looks up?

Malfoy reminisces as he trudges slowly toward the beckoning hands of his mother and father. Once more she had disappeared without a trace, and although he looked, my god he looked, there was nothing. Nothing to prove she was ever at the school again, nothing except memories of those whom had seen her, and the ‘blessing’ that once adorned Luna’s hair. He tightly grasped the feather that he kept up his sleeve.

 It was his now, much to his surprise as Luna approached him before the shield fell.

~

“You need this more than I do.” She had said as she plucked it from her hair and placed it in his palm. “Things will get worse before they get better.”

~

Gaining strength from his lucky charm, Draco takes another slow step. He is halfway across the courtyard, a couple of steps in front of Voldemort, when he hears the low warning caw from above. The sound somewhat startled him, as the fruity scent he had often caught on the wind from time to time began to waft gently around him. His heart leapt in joy. He knew she was around, but where? Scanning the faces of both crowds, he falters. Maybe he should just write it off as his imagination, as he had done so many times. Sighing, he lifts his foot to take another plodding step. Once more there is a loud, somewhat impatient caw above him.

His head whips up just in time to behold a small sliver of light break free from the darkened sky, and hit the wings of the raven smiling down at him. His eyes widen ever so slightly as the sleek onyx gleams in the suns ray, producing a shine line of deep purple, matching that of the hidden tone in his lost loves hair. But what he is thinking can’t be possible… can it?

Noticing something else holding the boys attention in an intense manner, Voldemort grins wickedly as he raises his wand toward to creature.

“You shouldn’t let your mind wander, dear boy. Arvada Kadavra!”

“NO!” Draco screams in vain as he sees the green light hit the raven’s small body, causing it to collapse in a heap.

Draco shakes slightly with boiling rage and simmering sadness, however he knows he cannot go against the power of the dark lord. Staring blankly at the pile of unmoving feathers, he clenches and unclenches his fists. His parents are confused as they look back and forth between their son and the lifeless bird.

Although quite an emotional boy, he was never really one to show his feelings purposely in front of others, especially since his teachings by his father, much to his mothers behest. Poor Draco was lectured time and time again from a very young age that any emotions other than those of hatred, are a weakness, a luxury they could not afford to have as servants to the Dark Lord. So needless to say, both mother and father were quite surprised by his outburst. And it wasn’t just his parents, the students behind him shared equal looks of confusion and surprise on their faces. Although pleasing his mother, his parents concluded he had grown and he was not the same boy they had left at Hogwarts.

Draco turns his back to the pillar, a terrifying scowl on his face. He proceeds to continue toward his parents, his mother who had her arms out welcoming him, now had a hand covering her mouth as she stared at something behind him. It wasn’t a look he saw on her face often. It was the look of surprise, shifting into one of true fear. Spinning on his heel in hope, his eyes travel up the crumbling stone to the black tattered feathers. They twitch. He feels his eyes go wide again, as all other students, teachers, and death eaters are now watching the bird stand and shake itself. After nonchalantly preening a feather, it slowly turns its head toward the scorned eyes of the man without a nose. As if adding fuel to the fire, it laughs. Mockingly.

A murmur echoes throughout the courtyard. Nothing has ever survived the killing curse – minus the case of Harry Potter… Also, can birds even laugh? There was now, without a doubt in Draco’s mind, who this was. There was only one person he knew of who would goad someone so brazenly when they were already teeming with anger.

Taking flight, the raven circles once then swoops low, a purple black smoke encasing it as it heads straight for Draco. Pale alabaster dainty feet are the first to touch the hard cobblestone with nary a sound, although decorated with thin silver chain links. The black crushed velvet of a cloak follows almost immediately after, the bottom slightly tattered and burnt as it circles around the bare legs of the woman it belongs to. The large plume finally dissipates, and although the raven skull mask hides her features, she keeps the cloaks hood up, not allowing anyone of the opposing team to guess her identity.

The stunned Draco is brought back to reality when he feels a cool sensation sliding down his arm. It takes him only a second to realise it was a hand, now grasping his with fingers entwined. Although the feeling of elation courses through his body, he is still seething. Anger from her leaving _again_ fights with the happiness that she had brought him with her return. The sadness and self-deprecating thoughts that swirl in his mind from the coldness she had shown him several times previously, being dispersed and replaced by the feeling and implications of the very solid, icy hand wrapped around his own. Draco lowers his gaze toward where they are joined. The hand holding his gives his palm a little squeeze, as if telling him to trust her.

With naught but a sarcastic wave from the woman at his side, they disappear, leaving only a small pile of raven feathers. The scream of anger from being made a fool of, echoed throughout the grounds.


	7. Home Sweet Home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Malfoys are saved, hiding within their new home away from home.

Draco opens his eyes to see his parents in front of him in an unfamiliar room. After glancing around at the furniture and other tasteful decor, they stare at their saviour dubiously, knowing that even if they attempted to take out their wands, it would do no good. Draco’s mother is the first to speak.

“Thank you for saving my family.” Her gaze shifts down to their still linked hands. “… and your relationship with my son is…?”

There is a chuckle from behind the mask as Draco releases her hand in a fluster. Trying to hide his embarrassment, he reaches to uncover her face.

“Enough of this, remove your disguise.”

_“What’s this? A stern tone from someone with such a sad face when believed I was dead? Oh Draco, you’re just too fun to tease~”_

Her hand shot up and grasped his wrist, his fingers millimetres away from her beak.

“Tsk tsk tsk, naughty, naughty.”

The voice that came from behind the skull was surprisingly clear, and in no way muted or muffled by what they assumed covered the entirety of her face, including her mouth.

Finally, after much processing, Lucius decided to speak. This woman held great power, obviously more than the dark lord… perhaps she could be the one to protect him?

“You dare disrespect the one who saved us?”

Piercing eyes turn onto Draco’s father. He couldn’t see them, but he sure could feel them. After a heavy silence that seemed to last forever, the hand released the wrist and began to unclip the clasps that fastened the mask. Removing the face cover and pulling down the hood, her onyx hair fell freely, cascading down the feathers that adorned her shoulders. Much to her expectation, she was greeted by the initial look of surprise, quickly changing to a somewhat interested smile. A look she was accustomed to whenever someone lay eyes on her for the first time.

“How do you do? The name is Branwen Merla, Branwen if you please.” She extends her hand in an awaiting handshake.

The parents comply and her eyes shine mischievously.

“You do like your games, don’t you.” Draco states, phrasing the snide remark as a question, disguising how secretly pleased he is that the light seems to have come back to her eyes.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She grins, teeth showing.

“Hmph.”

“He’s so cute when he pouts.” She coos as she pulls his cheek. He slaps her hand away. “Oh? What’s this? Has the little snake got a bit of a bite?” She chuckles as she bites the air tauntingly. He turns in a huff and his parents share a look. How odd of their son to be acting this way. Is this her doing? Who is she, _really_?

“And where do you think you’re going?” Branwen asks, without turning around.

“Elsewhere.”

“You really aren’t.”

She finally faces him, pointing a finger toward his feet. Glancing down, he sees vines are wrapped around his ankles, prohibiting movement.

Branwen clears her throat and begins to once again address them all, a tone of seriousness gracing her voice.

“Welcome to my personal haven. Altered and moved recently to accommodate you lucky few whom, I assume, have never stepped foot in a pocket dimension. Before you ask, yes, you will be safe here. This is very ancient blood magic, more powerful than anything currently on this planet. If curious about the layout, it is technically what you call ‘The Shrieking Shack’, however no one can enter, other than you three and, of course, myself. However, in the extremely rare occurrence of someone actually entering the building, they will find only that of the run down house in the natural realm. They cannot hear you, or see anything, but if you feel the air change and you so wish it, you can choose to see and observe them.

Both floors are houses in themselves – they have three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and other rooms that are customary of a normal human home. Lucius and Narcissa, your things have been placed downstairs, I reside on this upper floor, and, as there are many rooms on either floor, Draco may choose where he wishes. Your things will arrive when you make your choice.

There are three main exits. The front door takes you to Malfoy mansion – I strongly advise not going there as of yet. The trapdoor here takes you through a tunnel exiting under the whomping willow on Hogwarts grounds. It probably won’t attack you. Probably. And the final exit is the gate at the back of the garden. This leads you directly outside the woods surrounding the shack. As you know, town is only a short walk away.

It would probably be in your best interest to not leave for some time, as of recent events. There is fully stocked high quality food, entertainment, and whatever else you may need. If there is anything else you wish, there is a pad on each dining table. Write what you require and it shall be yours within a few moments, however I insist you write nothing extremely unnecessary.

In general, you may, of course, leave of your own volition, even though I have hindered dear Draco here, this is only temporary until I finish speaking.”

With those final words, the cords binding Draco’s feet release, leaving not a scratch nor a bruise.

“Questions?”

“Are you going to defeat him?”

Lucius asked the one question that was on all of their minds.

Branwen raised an eyebrow. “Who? Oh! Noseless.” She circles her own index finger in the air around her nose. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.” She shrugs, losing interest in the conversation. “It is not my fight, nor yours. The outcome is set and cannot be changed. What will happen, will happen. Now, I believe you all must be tired. Do make yourself at home and rest.”

Concluding the conversation, she turns, walking past Draco into the room opposite and closes the door.

“She really does things at her own pace, doesn’t she.”

“You have no idea.”


	8. Forgive Not Forget

The following day at noon, the youngest Malfoy stirs from his slumber. As he pads back from the bathroom after a refreshing shower and a change of clothes, he hears a melody coming from the room next to his. The melody draws him to her room as he peeks in. She is lounging on her bed, seemingly bored, watching the little shadow creatures she had conjured, dancing along to her humming.

He thinks back to the previous night and how he chose his room. His parents insisted he live downstairs with them, but he didn’t have to think or hesitate when it came to choosing. As soon as she mentioned a choice, he knew where he would stay. By her side, always.

Draco smiles, thinking she has a surprising cute side, yet jumps a moment later when her carefree grin turns demonic as she crushes her puppets and the once melodious air is filled with their tiny screams.

Although knowing he should retreat, he makes no attempt to do so. Her cruel grin now shifts to him.

“Was I being bothersome? Do come in.”

Draco hesitates and takes a quick glance around the room. It’s interior somewhat mirroring its owner. Although many of the items have distorted from their obviously once beautiful appearance, he enters the room.

“What brings you to my lair, pray tell?” She stands from her bed and takes a step toward him, her eyes gleaming much like a girl who gets a toy on Christmas Eve. Unbeknownst to him the door closes quietly by an unseen force.

She reaches out and runs an icy finger down his cheek “speechless, are we?”

Draco’s eyes flutter as he enjoys the cool sensation stroking his face playfully. Was her temperature always so cold? Ignoring his impulses and fighting the feeling that he was being controlled, he clears his throat and asks the question that had been nagging him.

“Why were you there?”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t keep an eye on you?” She laughed, flicking him on the forehead.

“How much did you see?”

“First answer me this… why didn’t you give up Potter? You knew it was him, even under the enchantment.”

Draco sensed something shift in her aura and the way she spoke. There was a darkness behind her gleaming eyes and her lips curled into a twisted smile.

“Did you want a friend?” She says mockingly. “Did you think that everything will end in peace? Rainbows, teddy bears, fluffy clouds, and cotton candy? How adorable.” Her eyes are foggy and dark as Branwen tilts her head slowly, her grin growing wider and more insane. “I don’t know what fairy tales you been reading, boy, but the real world doesn’t work like that.”

He takes a step back, only to realise the door now laid shut.

“You wish to escape? From lil ol’ me? Maybe you need to be punished.”

Backing him up against the now closed door, there is no means of escape.

“So… how shall I punish you, hm?” One of her hands grasps his chin roughly as the other is pushed against the door, next to his ear. Her thumb traces his lips seductively.

He pays no mind to the arm near his head, nor the black ink that writhed and wriggled on her wrist. His vision is filled with her face and his attention is focused on not finding the current predicament arousing in any which way, and pretending that the hand roughly touching his chin was not hers. He had wanted to be with her, but not like this.

Suddenly there is a light knock on the door.

“Branwen, have you seen Draco?” It was his mother.

Her eyes narrow in annoyance as she presses her index finger of the hand that was once on his chin, to his lips.

“No, I have not.”

His lips part, as if he is about to reply. Taking no quarter, she pushes against him and draws her face close, only millimetres away from his own. Her every word causing her lips to lightly graze his.

Although he is afraid, he can do naught but wonder what had caused this shift in behaviour. Her teasing he was accustomed to, but this was more of a malicious nature.

“Draco has changed. For the better, I think. I believe this was your doing? Although he is growing into a fine young man, I will always worry about him. If you didn’t save us when you did… well. Look after him, will you?”

“… sure.” Branwen’s eyes waver and her grip slackens as the faces of her lovers from her past flash before her eyes. The guilt she had felt as she held their once wounded and bleeding corpses came crashing back in a momentary lapse. It was always for her. Their lives were given always for hers. Well, not this time. She had lived long enough, this time it was her turn to hopefully break the never ending sacrificial cycle.

“If you see him, can you tell him to speak with me?”

“…Ofcourse.”

Hearing retreating footsteps, Branwen releases Draco and turns her back, subtly covering her arm in the process.

“Apologies, I’m just…tired.”

Before leaving the room, he looks at her with concern. “There’s nothing the matter?”

“…no.”


	9. Go Home

The night is still and suspiciously dark, as if the clouds themselves wanted to hide the full moon from whatever grisly sight may befall it on the ground below. Those in the ‘shrieking shack’, the building they call home, albeit temporarily, are silent as darkness falls and they slumber. All, that is, except a shadow exiting swiftly from the second floor window.

 

Although early morning, all is still void of any light as Draco fumbles in the dark toward the bathroom. After relieving himself, he rolls up the sleeves of his pyjamas to wash his hands. Staring bleary eyed at himself in the ornate bathroom mirror above the faucet, he sees his reflection distort and move on its own volition. He blinks and rubs his eyes.

 _“I’m obviously still half asleep.”_ He thinks to himself as he splashes the cold running water onto his face, only just now noticing his bare arm. Now wide awake, a feeling of overwhelming dread engulfs him like a tidal wave. Sprinting down the corridor, he arrives at the room next to his. The ebony wood door closed and intimidating. Feverishly, he bashes on the door.

Silence.

He tries the doorknob. It is unlocked and swings open freely. The room is bare. As if no one had resided there for quite some time.

“No… NO!” He yells in a frustrated manner, punching his fist into the wall. “Not again, I won’t alloy it!” Yelling into the empty room did nothing but aggravate his annoyance.

 

Lucius and Narcissa are fast asleep, as if not hearing the banging on the floor above.

The mother stirs as she feels a presence in her room. Glancing toward the doorway, she sees her dishevelled son.

“Mmmn? Draco?”

He all but launches himself onto his parents, ripping up their pyjama sleeves in a frenzy.

“Draco? What is the meaning of this?!”

“The marks! They’re gone!”

The young Malfoy shakes his fathers wrist in his hand. Lucius swats him away aggressively.

“And what is your point? The Dark Lord is probably finally destroyed, taking his cursed mark along with him.”

“It’s okay.” His mother smiled and took Draco in her arms to comfort him, talking as if he were a baby. Her motherly hand stroking his hair gently. “We discussed this, remember? You agreed to start afresh as a family, without the dark ones influence.”

Draco’s eyes begin to close as he pictured what that life could be like.

“We are finally…”

~

“… home.”

Hushed, whispered words echoed pleasantly in his ear, as a gentle touch caressed his hair and cheek.

“You have a life here, and I don’t want it to end prematurely. Get married, start a family… be happy.”

There is a slight pressure and soft sensation above his brow. The lingering warmth was all that was left as he awoke and squinted into the darkness of his room, catching but a glimpse of a shadow clutching themselves in pain, and the fluttering of a black cloak as it leapt from his open window.

~

“I can’t.” Draco replied, coming back to his senses and pushing his mother away. “I need to find her.”

“Find who?”

Draco stares in disbelief at his mother, then his father. They had only exchanged words with Branwen yesterday! His heart thuds in his chest as his eyes dart around the room in a panic, noticing his surroundings. It is his parents’ bedroom… the one in the Malfoy mansion. _“This is her doing.”_  He realised. There was something he had to check, something he had to be sure of. Dashing out of the room, he overheard the small exchange between his parents.

“Draco…”

“Leave him.”


	10. Nursery Rhymes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the darkness gnaws away the sanity of her mind, will Draco be able to free her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pictured this scene very creepily... I don't know if it came across at all. It is also very jumpy. I have explained in a previous note why.
> 
> ... it also gets a bit naughty... xD

Dawn breaks and all the streets are empty, minus the platinum blonde boy doubled over and gasping for air. He leans upon a nearby fencepost whilst puffing.

Correct to his assumption, he had been in his family home. The back gate leading toward the garden and not that of the woods fringing the shrieking shack. How did she do it? Was it the magic of the pocket dimension? Or that ancient sorcery that she had spoken of? He didn’t even see the point of asking himself if she were the one whom had also deleted herself from his parents memory banks, as he already guessed the answer.

The way she just said goodbye felt as if she were leaving again… but why? Everything was going well, and they were safe. Did he imagine the soft stroking of his hair and the kiss left on his forehead? And did he see her wince in pain slightly before leaving? Scanning events in his own brain, he clearly recalled when she flew down beside him, sliding her cool palm down his forearm before grasping his hand tightly. He also remembered her shaking his parents hands when they had first been introduced – yet not in the normal way, but the way as if making an unbreakable promise. And, now that he thinks about it, the way she laughed as she flicked his forehead seemed so off. Not to mention what happened in her room…

Draco paused, his breathing now normal. Was his mother right? Was there actually a mysterious girl by the name of Branwen? Did he perhaps just dream up some random girl over the years? Was he actually in some mental institution or just recently woken from a coma? He began doubting his own sanity, until…

“?!”

That sound! The subtle whispering of parceltongue briefly fell upon his ears before dull silence once more. The Dark Lord had not been banished, after all! And if that is the case, then… Unknowing how he got to the woods so fast confounded him, however he kept on, pressing his body to its physical limits as he ran full speed toward the slight hissing carried on the wind and the now visible blizzard hovering low on the hill overlooking the shack.

Bracing himself and stepping into what feels like a solid wall of snow, he sees a figure in the calm eye, the centre of this snow-nado.

The black winged eyeliner, always so perfect, is smudged. The pale white legs sat naked on the snow, crossed into the shape of a soft pretzel. The long and silky hair now whipping about the calm sereneness of the alabaster face in meditation.

He _knew_ she was real and not imaginary! But how can he get to her?

Sensing the presence of a trespasser, snowy tendrils spawn to block his path.

“You have to do better than that.”

Responding to his challenge, they morph into creatures with Voldermorts face, yet still do not attack.

He readies his wand.

“I’m coming for you.” Draco whispers, eyeing the one that he will never doubt existed, ever again.

Picking up on his intention, they rush their target, trying to deter him. Clenching his fists, he pushes forward, ignoring the stabbing pain from the small paper-like cuts he accumulates from the fast flying shards of ice. Reaching the centre and dyeing the snow beneath his feet a lovely crimson, Draco examines the one in front of him. He is taken aback as he sees the black veins creeping up her neck, as if the ink itself is like poison throbbing through her veins.

Hearing a gasp, Branwen is yanked out of her _very_ important trance. Her eyes flick open and dart toward the young man who had the nerve to interrupt her. Her once beautiful coloured eyes are now the colour of the inky depths she had sunk into, giving her the appearance of being possessed by a demon. A sly and wicked grin graces her lips as she spies him edging closer. Her head twitches and tilts suddenly to the side and the blizzard disperses.

“Ding, dong, dell. Draco’s in the well! Who put him in? Well…” Her head whips back and a maniacal laughter escapes her lips, echoing around the empty plots of land.

Draco automatically takes a retreating step.

"Not what you were expecting? Is poor little Draco all scared?" Branwen laughed with madness, her mocking voice unlike her usual teasing tone. "That's right, run away little girl, run away."

"No."

"No?"

"That's right. No." Draco clenches his fists and treads closer. One step at a time.

 

Well, crap. She wasn't counting on him coming after her, he had never done so in the past.

 

"I will rescue you. I don't know how, but I will."

She snorts with derision.

"What praytell, makes you think I need saving? What if I  _like_ what is happening?"

Draco answers with silence. She had plenty of power, from what he had gathered, this would be absolutely nothing to her... so why is affecting her so?

"Did you want me to answer that question that is lingering in your thoughts? Are you a betting man? How about... a game of hide and seek. If you win, I _may_ tell you... but if I win..."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You trust  _her_. I am the other half of her, just made corporeal with some help."

"There is no way you are part of her."

"If you're so sure... Come play with me Draco~” Her voice high in pitch as if all sanity had left her. She disappears from his sight, only to reappear behind him briefly to whisper into his ear, "Try to catch something you cannot see."

 He twirls on the spot, however she is not there, the lingering laughter echoing throughout the trees. Was that a shadow flicking from tree to tree?

 

 

So begins the chase through the forest, as it becomes increasingly dark.

 

She toys with him, singing a haunting tune,

“Do you hear me, dear Malfoy, dear Malfoy?

I’m falling, dear Malfoy, dear Malfoy, today.

I’m a maiden, dear Malfoy, dear Malfoy.

But I’m dying, dear Malfoy, dear Malfoy, in pain.”

 

 followed immediately by an echoing childish giggle, which can only be described as creepy.

“Did you like the song? I wrote it just for yooou~” The drawn out word disappearing with the wind.

“…You’re dying?” Draco asks uncertainly. This could just be another trick of hers.

“No, silly!”

There is another giggle to his right. He spins, only to see several shadows slipping behind trees.

“You are.”

A creature appears from the fog that now hung low, rushing him at a fast pace. He raises his arms to shield himself, and the figure disperses only millimetres from his face. There is yet another chilling, playful laugh.

“Only joking!”

He feels a cool finger slide down his spine and a puff of warm breath blown into his ear.

“You’ll kill me, dear Malfoy, dear Malfoy.”

Hearing the low monotone sentence, he shudders, only barely registering the warm, moist object that slid briefly up his cheek and the laugh following it.

“I’m not killing you.” Draco states, rather matter-of-factly.

“Oooohhh? I do believe you should. Who knows what I may do… I may even try to kill you!” She laughs with glee, bordering lunacy.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but I know that if you wanted me dead, you would have done so already.”

The forest turns deathly quiet. All Draco can hear is the sound of his own wavering breaths. Did he call her bluff? Straining his ears, he hears an odd whistling noise. Within moments, an arrow whizzes past his ear and hits one of the trees behind him with a sickening thwack. Draco swallows and tenses again for the millionth time today, as he sees strands of his platinum blonde hair imbedded in the trees bark. He knows how well a marksman she is, and knows she would not miss by accident. Was this a warning shot? And if so, will the next one hit its target? Or is she purely toying with him? What will happen if he relinquishes his will… and kills her? No, he couldn’t do that. She can obviously hurt him, but could she actually _kill_ him?

There is another laugh.

“Tick, tock, goes the … Here mousey, mousey~ I’m getting bored~ Hickory, Dickory, Dock. The mouse ran up the…”

Clock… was she stalling for some reason? Did she need more time? There was one thing that slowed her down… but what would happen if he cast that spell? She survived it the first time, but would it actually kill her the second? No, he can’t risk it. Gritting his teeth, he comes to a conclusion. It’s time for plan B.

Knowing he is unable to keep up with her speed or predict her movements, he takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. Will this actually work? Much to his assumption, his feigned lowered guard brings her in close. There is a short silence before warm breath tickles his cheek.

“Are you giving up already?” There was a pout in her voice, as if her favourite toy had broken.

Turning slightly, he fires a spell where he believed she stood.

There was another giggle near his ear, closer this time. “Aw, you missed!”

In one swift motion, Draco had her pinned roughly to the trunk of a nearby tree, her arms either side of her. He grinned somewhat triumphantly as the blood from his wounds slowly trickled down his face. “Did I really?”

Although still black, her eyes shine with pride. “Very clever, I can’t believe I fell for the classic misdirection.” She chuckles. “I mayhap have misjudged you. And here I was, thinking about playing with your delightfully handsome father. He is, after all, of the bloodline also.”

Draco’s eyes waver slightly and his hands pressing her arms down tighten, his fingers digging into her flesh. Branwen smirks and presses on.

“Or that Harry Potter. He may not be of the blood, but he is oh so powerful and the apparent ‘chosen one’. Perhaps he and I should- mpfh?!”

Succumbing to the taunts, Draco’s lips crash into Branwen’s impatiently, as if to shut her up, releasing her arms in the progress. All his rage and jealousy he felt by those words manifesting into wild passion. He had wanted to touch her like this for so long, practically upon their first meeting, and he wanted to claim her as his own when she gained popularity, afraid that someone else would steal her away. Why? He wasn’t sure. Was it something to do with the bloodline she had been talking about? Wrapping his hands around her head, he nips at her lips, forcefully parting them with his tongue.

“…nnn…”

Branwen’s hand reaches up and grasps Draco’s jacket squeezing it slightly and tugging him impossibly closer, pressing their chests tightly together. Sure, she had a dagger concealed in her other hand aiming at his vitals, but she decided this was much more enjoyable. And hey, she could always shank him when he pulls away.

After a fairly lengthy and probing tongue battle, their lips part. Draco’s breath is heated and laboured as he slowly opens his eyes. He is greeted by a devilish grin as Branwen’s tongue glides across her teeth and top lip, licking the small drops of blood that had fallen onto her when their faces were pressed together.

Draco stared at her as if in a trance, the gesture somewhat arousing.

Branwen’s eyes narrowed almost immediately, as her face scrunched up first in confusion, then realisation. The blood of the bloodline, a natural detox for her. Was it only that blood had to be spilled, rather than the death of her loved ones that would break the curse? Her shoulders began to lurch as if holding in a cough or a sneeze. Pursing her lips, she tried to keep it in, but in vain, as small wisps of black-ish green smoke-like substance exits the cracks. The black in her eyes disappear with the fog, and she breathes in the fresh, cold air. Instead of thanking him, or apologising, she immediately starts berating Draco.

“You stupid fool! What part of goodbye didn’t you understand?! Do you realise I could’ve killed you whilst trying to get that venom out of my body?! Well, don’t just stand there looking dumbfounded, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“You were deranged.”

“Oh, really? On what grounds?”

Draco places his hand under her chin and presses his body against her once more, giving her a slow sweet kiss.

Branwen’s surprised eyes narrow then close as she gives herself over to the sweet tingling warmth that seemed to be blossoming in her chest.

“Oh, well, that’s a good answer.” She smiles when he pulls away slightly. “But don’t think you’re getting out of this, that easy.”

“More.” Draco mutters under his breath. Did his voice always sound this deep?

“Wha- ?!”

Unknown to her, his other hand had sneakily circled behind her head once more, pulling her into a passionate kiss. His left hand moves to her waist, stroking her stomach up to her breast. Branwen squirms a little at the ticklish sensation.

“Do you forgive me?” He mumbles into the crook of her neck before slowly exposing her collar bone with his heated lips.

“…I guess I _could_ …”

His left hand grasped her wrists that were now above her head, as his right hand slowly slid up her smooth thigh.

“Ah…!”

Draco grinned. She was now at _his_ mercy. He was sure that would probably not happen again, so he had better make the most of it.

“Hm, what? You could? You’re going to have to do better than _that_.” His hand started stroking her inner thigh.

Her stomach flipped with numbing pleasure. “Yes! I forgive you, okay?! Yes!!!” Weird. She was never one to yield so easy. What is going on?!

He grinned as he leaned his mouth close to her ear and whispered. “I’ll be making you scream that word along with my name… perhaps later tonight?”

Branwen could feel her face growing hot. Was she blushing?! She never blushes! And since when was he so bold?

“You’re surprisingly sadistic, Malfoy.”

He lets loose a manly, throaty chuckle.

“And you’re surprisingly submissive.”

Branwen’s eyes grow wide. Why didn’t she notice it before now? Was it because she was too swept up in what he was doing to her?

Standing in front of her was a man. Not a boy, nor a teen, but a grown man. If that was his hormones, damn what a fast growth spurt. But no, she knew that was not the case. Did she somehow do something to him? She’s never had that sort of magic before… and when did her own teenage illusion disperse? Has he not noticed yet? Was this perhaps a repercussion of her selfish wish to end the reoccurring nightmare of her struggle throughout time? Will he age until his mortal life comes to an end?

“Wait.” Branwen pushes Draco’s shoulders gently.

“What?”

“Don’t you notice?”

“The incredibly sexy woman in front of me?”

“Well, yes. I mean, no… I mean…”

Laughing once more, he buries his head in the crook of her shoulder and breathes in her scent. “No matter what form you take, I know it’s you.” He lightly grazes his teeth along her neck, and creeps a hand up her thigh once more.

She shudders. “Draco, listen…”

He breathes a heated breath in her ear. “I’ve wanted this for so long, and I know you want it too.”

“You had raging teenage hormones, and don’t assume things about me.”

“Oh, is that so?” His hand slides over her underwear.

“Nngg…”

“You know, your body betrays you.”

“We can’t do this, not here.”

“So, it’s okay if we are elsewhere?”

“I never said…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sooooo at the time I wrote this, I MAY have been reading a lot of otome novels >_>  
> Don't judge me.


	11. Like Weeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Branwen return to the Malfoy mansion with their current appearance... the parents are surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna do something with this, and end it with this chapter, but like I said previously, writers block or something.

 It is early dawn by the time the new couple return to the estate, neither of them dreading the explanations that they would have to give. They do live in a world of magic, afterall.

After a slight rap on the wooden door, Malfoys mother answers the door. Her eyes widen when she sees her son.

“Draco…?”

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Branwen replied to the surprised woman in an expensive robe.

“Your voice… how did you both… when did you…”

“Hm? Oh I always look like this. The me you had seen previously was just an illusion.”

“She apologises for that.”

“I do?”

“She does.”

Branwen shrugs nonchalantly. "If you say so." She turns her attention back to the mother, "I believe we should talk..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED! ....
> 
> .....
> 
> ....
> 
> Maybe. Probably not. Fill the rest in with your imagination lol xD


End file.
